


Tell Me Where You've Been Lately

by LayALioness



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:25:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5963907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LayALioness/pseuds/LayALioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BELLAMY: Don’t freak out.</p><p>CLARKE: that sentence is always guaranteed to freak me out fyi<br/>CLARKE: why am i not freaking?</p><p>BELLAMY: I didn’t get a cat.</p><p>CLARKE: you seem to be under the impression that a pet cat is necessary for my happiness. the cat was your idea, i don’t care if you don’t get one. although i did come up with some truly awesome cat names while you were gone.</p><p>BELLAMY: I got a dog instead.</p><p>CLARKE: what.</p><p>BELLAMY: I got a dog. A puppy actually. She’s cute. What were the cat names?</p><p>CLARKE: bellamy you were supposed to get a cat.</p><p>BELLAMY: Sorry, can’t text and drive. See you in a bit!</p><p>CLARKE: bELLAMY</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Where You've Been Lately

**Author's Note:**

> this is mostly for kristen, partly because i didn't feel like working on anything i'm supposed to finish. oops.
> 
> also, i am a big advocate of the "name your pets after body parts/food it looks like" rule. i once had a hamster named kidney bean, for that reason. plus, imagine having a dog named Appendix. like, "oh sorry i have to go home and take Appendix out!" and watching everyone's expressions of horror.

“Hey, so how do you feel about cats?” Bellamy asks, plopping down beside Clarke on the sofa. His weight propels her cushion up a bit, which leaves her half on top of him, but he just swings an arm around her shoulders.

She eyes him a little warily, which seems fair. He could have probably segued into the whole _hey let’s get a pet_ conversation a little more naturally, but. What’s done is done, so he just shoots her a raised brow, waiting.

“They’re fine, in theory,” she says, careful with her words. Clarke always speaks like she’s weighing out each syllable before she decides to let it out.

“That’s it?” he teases, because it’s basically unheard of for Clarke to have such a small opinion, on _anything_. “’They’re fine in theory’? You don’t have a favorite breed, or some neighborhood cat from your childhood that you’re sure was the Hitler of cats?”

Clarke looks at him, bemused. “Do _you_ have a cat from your childhood that you think was secretly Hitler?”

“His name was Tubby,” Bellamy says immediately, and she grins. He points at the scar on his upper lip, and can’t help the grimace, because even if the memory is nearly twenty-one years old, it’s still pretty potent. “He lived across the street.”

Clarke pats his forearm, only a little condescendingly. “I’m sorry about your experience with Hitler-Cat,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “Was there a reason you brought it up, or--?”

Bellamy shrugs. Truthfully, he’s been wanting to get a pet for the apartment for a while now, but it just never seemed like the right time. They were all too busy with their respective classes, and jobs, and honestly he was a little worried that if he brought home a puppy, Lexa might cook it or something.

But now things are starting to settle down; he and Lexa have both graduated, and Clarke finally quit the insurance job that refused to pay her overtime and convinced her she was losing her soul, and he’s pretty sure that without the stress of midterms Lexa might find it in herself to love something with fur.

Plus, he’s used to having pets. He and Octavia used to constantly bring home all manner of creatures and care for them until their mother eventually noticed, and turned the animals loose while they were at school. Even when he was living in the dorms with Miller, Bellamy had a pet fish. It was nice, caring for something, feeling responsible and needed.

“I think we should get one,” he says, and Clarke stares at him.

“What, _us_? Like, you and me? In this apartment?”

“And Lexa,” Bellamy points out, because if he doesn’t, it’ll be too easy to picture just him and Clarke as surrogate parents for something small and warm, and that’s a rabbit hole he probably just shouldn’t go down.

Clarke’s still frowning, which is to be expected. As far as he knows, she’s never actually owned a pet, and has no idea how to take care of one. She’ll pick it up quickly enough, he’s sure, and she’ll probably even be good at it, but Clarke doesn’t like jumping into things without a plan.

“Why a cat?”

Bellamy shrugs a second time. Most of his arguments are shrug-based. “They’re easier to box-train, less maintenance, and generally independent. Also I thought Lexa probably wouldn’t do well with a dog.”

“Definitely not,” she agrees, _still_ frowning. He’s not totally convinced she knows she’s doing it. “When did you want to get one?”

“O’s going rabbit shopping today,” he admits. She’d wanted a dog, something large and intimidating like a Doberman or Great Dane, but Lincoln’s allergic. “I figured I could just tag along and take a look.”

Clarke studies him and he tries to keep his face blank, to look as guiltless as possible, but it’s hopeless; Clarke’s known him for years now, can read him better than anyone. She knows. “Oh my god,” she shoves him a little, and huffs. “You were totally going to just show up with a cat!”

Bellamy can’t bite back a grin in time, and she shoves him again. “I would’ve texted,” he offers, and she blows a raspberry in the air. Some spit lands on his cheek and he makes a face, wiping it off with her shirt sleeve.

“Fine, you can get a cat,” she decides. “One of those really old, grouchy ones, that doesn’t do anything except lie on the floor and hate everything. It can be our apartment mascot.”

“ _Old, lazy and miserable_ does really scream _us_ ,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to her mess of curls, still tangled from sleep, before standing. He’s still in his sleep shirt and boxers, and O has already threatened to kill him if he makes her late, and he’s sure she meant it.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

When he walks back out into the kitchen, Lexa’s there, a little flushed from her morning run but still somehow looking immaculate. She offers the usual perfunctory nod of acknowledgment, before sliding a mug of coffee in his general direction. In an apartment of three caffeine addicts, they’re all used to making four-to-six cups of coffee at a time. Bellamy tends to prefer his with more sugar than is really necessary, but Lexa only ever pours it black, probably in an attempt to strengthen his character.

Clarke’s already passed out on the couch because she’s bad at keeping a reasonable sleep schedule, and he shares a look of fond exasperation with Lexa before leaving, only running a few minutes behind.

Octavia still chews him out about it when he gets to the Pets Mart, obviously, because she’s Octavia, but it’s relatively easy to distract her once they reach the little plastic bins filled with rabbits falling all over each other in a bed of cedar chips. He watches as Octavia bends over to press her palm against the plastic, cooing gently, totally at odds with her black leather and studs.

For all that she’s a biker who teaches Eskrima at the local gym, she’s still just his twenty-year-old baby sister, who collects things with butterflies.

“Where’s Lincoln?” he asks, to be polite. They’ve been living together for over a year now, and Bellamy even _likes_ the guy, but O’s still convinced he’s going to try to fight him, whenever they’re in the same room.

Even now, she looks suspicious. “Picked up an extra shift,” she shrugs. “He trusts me to pick the best bunny.”

“They all look pretty good,” he says, and she scoffs a little harshly.

“That’s your inner PTA mom talking,” she sniffs, sounding positively disgusted with him. “Saying _we’re all winners_ , which is a lie. There’s only one winner, and I intend to buy them.”

Bellamy snorts without really meaning to, and turns towards the back of the store, where he knows the cats and dogs are kept. “Whatever you say, O.”

The cat section is pretty much exactly as he remembers it; little metal-gated cages stacked on top of each other, with the cats’ names and personality traits printed out and taped to the doors. Bellamy stops at every one, poking a few fingers through the holes and wiggling them, seeing which cats care and come to investigate, rubbing up against him or sniffing him tentatively or attacking him with teeth and claws—and which ones don’t, choosing instead to stare disdainfully from where they’re curled up or sprawled out at the back ends of their cages.

And then he sees the dog.

It’s in one of the cat cages, he assumes because it’s so small, but then it tries to shuffle towards him excitedly, and Bellamy sees that it’s missing its two hind legs.

It can drag itself along pretty well, and once it reaches the front, it runs its tongue along the metal bars, licking desperately at Bellamy’s hooked fingers, giving a few sweet whines. It’s a girl, that much is obvious, and it’s still fairly young, and made up almost entirely of wrinkles, like a bloodhound, with massive drooping ears that it keeps stepping on with both lumbering paws.

Bellamy falls in love with her immediately.

A teenage employee comes up out of nowhere—or at least, it seems like she does. In reality, she’d probably been standing there for a while, waiting, and Bellamy just hadn’t noticed.

“Would you like to hold her?”

He nods, only moving out of the way so she can unlock the cage, and scoop the mass of licking wrinkles up, to deposit her into his arms. It’s a little weird, supporting her bottom without the two extra legs kicking about, and she’s pretty squirmy so he has to get a tight grip, but she’s warm and she’s rubbing her little wet snout all over him and whining happily, and Bellamy’s never letting her go.

Clarke’s going to be annoyed, he knows, but eventually she’ll fall in love with the puppy too, and Lexa…

Lexa will just have to deal with it.

“What happened to her legs?” he wonders, and the girl shrugs, holding up a finger for the puppy to teeth on.

“She was born like that. We’ve been calling her Earthworm.”

Bellamy scrunches up his nose, and she laughs. “That’s terrible,” he says, glancing down at the puppy to make sure she’s not offended. She yawns up at him.

The girl shrugs. “It was a work in progress. You want to adopt her?”

He should say no, or at least check in with Clarke first, and send the obligatory text, but instead he just nods, tucking the puppy more securely into the crook of his arm. “Where do I sign?”

When he finds Octavia again, the puppy is squirming in one arm, while he carries a bag of dog supplies in the other. She takes one look at him and sighs, like she’s not even surprised. She’s carrying one of those cardboard carriers, and when Bellamy peeks in through the slots in the side, he can see a gray-speckled rabbit with bright orange eyes.

“Her name is Antigone,” O says smugly. “She bullied all the other ones out of their carrots.”

“You _would_ choose the asshole,” he shakes his head.

“She reminded me of you.”

“Brat.”

His phone goes off while he’s waiting for Octavia to buy rabbit food, and when he looks at the screen he sees it’s a message from Abby, reminding him to get a teeth cleaning this month, and asking him to remind Clarke too since she always forgets. He grins and sends back a thumbs up emoji—checking in about dental hygiene is how Abby Griffin shows she cares.

Octavia fits in beside him, leaning over to look at his phone because she’s nosy. “Is that from your roommate, who you’re _totally_ not sleeping with?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “I’m not sleeping with either of my roommates,” he says, and she rolls her eyes back. Ever since Octavia found out that Lexa and Clarke sometimes slept together when they were both bored and single, she’s been hinting at _something_ between him and Clarke. He’s pretty sure she’s convinced they have a weird threesome dynamic going on in their apartment. “It’s from Abby.”

“Ah yes,” O says solemnly. “The _mom_ of the roommate, who you’re _totally_ not sleeping with.”

“You can use her first name you know. You guys have met like, a hundred times. You got drunk together once and dueted _Ice Ice Baby_. You’re on a first-name basis.”

“So are you,” she waggles her eyebrows suggestively, and he sighs.

He texts Clarke in the car, setting the puppy down on the front seat so she can squirm around freely, sniffing at the leather. He should probably put her in the nice plastic, _expensive_ dog carrier he just bought, but he doesn’t want her to whine. He’s kind of a sucker.

He texts, _Don’t freak out_ , and waits for her to respond before continuing. She answers within seconds.

 _that sentence is always guaranteed to freak me out fyi_ , she sends, and then _why am i not freaking?_

_I didn’t get a cat._

_you seem to be under the impression that a pet cat is necessary for my happiness. the cat was your idea, i don’t care if you don’t get one. although i did come up with some truly awesome cat names while you were gone._

_I got a dog instead._

There’s a pause that stretches on for longer than the other ones, and then finally _what._

_I got a dog. A puppy actually. She’s cute. What were the cat names?_

_bellamy you were supposed to get a cat._

_Sorry, can’t text and drive. See you in a bit!_

_bELLAMY_

Bellamy tosses his phone on the seat beside the puppy, and only realizes his mistake when she immediately tries to eat it. He moves it to the cup holder instead, and she whines.

Clarke is waiting just inside the door by the time Bellamy makes it up the stairs and into the apartment, which is convenient because he can just shove the puppy into her arms, grab the baby wipes Lexa uses for her makeup, and head back down again.

“What—where are you going?” Clarke demands, and he looks over to see her wide-eyed and gripping the squirmy puppy with both hands stretched out away from her body. Bellamy bites back a laugh, because he’s a good person, and walks over to move her arms so that she’s cradling the dog instead.

“She peed on the seat,” he admits, making a face, and Clarke glares up at him, as if to say _this is your fault_ , which. Well, she’s not _wrong_.

Bellamy sighs. “I promise to apologize and grovel when I’m done cleaning up dog piss, alright?”

She’s still frowning deeply at him, but seems at least a little resigned about it. She’s still cradling the puppy to her chest, and the dog snuffles at her breast, which is definitely his cue to leave. “There’d better be a _lot_ of groveling!” she calls after him.

By the time Bellamy returns, Clarke’s sitting on the couch again, with the puppy wiggling around in her lap, butt moving wildly side to side with the force of her tail wagging, and Clarke is playing with her ears.

Bellamy leans his hip against the doorjamb, doing his best to look only a _little_ smug. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Clarke jumps a little, startled, and whirls around to shoot him a glare. “Of course not,” she declares, letting the puppy’s ears droop back in her face. She sneezes, sending them flying.

“I really am sorry,” he offers, sitting down on the other side of the couch and reaching out, so the puppy can chew on his hand. Her teeth are small, and new, not sharp, and it clearly comforts her, having something in her mouth. “Not for getting her, but I’m sorry for springing her on you like this. It really wasn’t planned.”

Clarke gives a heavy sigh. “You _never_ plan,” she points out, half fondness, half exasperation. She glances back at the puppy and strokes the silky part of her huge ear. “I guess we can’t take her back now,” she muses.

“No,” Bellamy agrees, almost too fast, and Clarke makes a face at him, because of _course_ she wasn’t going to make him take the dog back.

“You have to tell Lexa,” she decides, which seems fair. “ _And_ I get to name her.” She frowns a little, casting a glare at a little yellow memo pad sitting by her foot. “A cat would have been easier,” she sighs. “There are so many good puns for cat names.”

Bellamy picks up the pad and scans the list, snorting at each addition. Catlas, Catalanta, and Purrseus are his favorites.

“She looks like a small intestine,” Clarke says, and he looks over to see she’s playing with the puppy’s skin wrinkles, stretching them and moving them around. “All wrinkled and thin.”

Bellamy levels her with his most serious look. “Please don’t name her Small Intestine.”

“It’s either that or Lemon,” she says, pointing at the pale yellow fur. “Jejunim,” she decides. “The wrinkliest part. She can be Jeju for short.” She picks the dog up under both legs, lifting her until they’re nose-to-nose. “What do you think, huh, Jeju? Is that you?” Jeju licks at Clarke’s face, which she takes as agreement.

Bellamy had been holding out for Scylla, but he’s not really all that surprised Clarke went straight to human anatomy. Even if she did drop out of med school, she still reads Biology journals for fun.

“Jeju, what should we make daddy do next?” she mock-wonders, and Bellamy raises a brow.

“I already had to concede naming rights,” he points out. “ _And_ I have to tell Lexa, which’ll be a horror show. What else do you want?”

Clarke looks Jeju in the eye. Jeju licks her own muzzle. Clarke nods professionally, and turns back to Bellamy. “Pancakes.”

“It’s two in the afternoon,” he argues, but Clarke’s having none of it, and starts chanting.

“Pancakes! Pancakes! Pancakes!”

“Alright, alright!” he surrenders, shooting her a glare, but the effect is lost and Clarke beams at him. She knows he likes to show off his cooking, and she takes advantage of his vanity at every turn.

Bellamy goes into the kitchen, fetching the eggs and flour, and Clarke follows with Jeju still tucked in her arms. She hops up onto the counter, dangling her legs back and forth, watching him as he cooks. She always claims his pancakes are the best because of his _secret ingredient_ , and he could easily tell her it’s just baking powder, but. Then she might not beg him for pancakes, anymore.

The thing of it is, Octavia’s wrong; Bellamy isn’t _in love_ with Clarke Griffin. But he does love her, and he’s getting closer and closer to that every day, and if she asked him to marry him tomorrow, he absolutely would, but. Well, she won’t ask him, so there’s no real sense in thinking about it.

As far as he’s aware, Lexa’s the only one who knows, and only because they got drunk on peach schnapps one night and Bellamy _hates_ peach schnapps and spilled all of his pathetic guts out into Lexa’s lap in one mess of _hey so I know you’re fucking Clarke Griffin and good for you but it kind of kills me a little each time I see you guys together_. Which is why they stopped sleeping together. He’d feel bad about it, but neither of them seemed very disappointed about the whole thing, and Lexa promised she’d been planning on putting an end to it anyway since it’s bad form to hook up with your business partner.

He’s pretty sure Raven has a general idea, because she’s Raven and also because _he_ stopped hooking up with _her_ around the time he moved in with Clarke and started waking up to her bedhead and tiny sleep shorts and neon print socks fucking _everywhere_. Bellamy tries to make a point of not thinking about other women during sex, because it’s rude, and pretty unfair to Raven. She deserved to have someone who’d appreciate her, not someone who kept picturing her with blonder hair.

Octavia obviously has the right idea, but she’s still his little sister so he’s not about to tell _her_ that. So instead he just weathers her innuendos and pretends that he only sees Clarke as a friend, and not his probable soul mate.

Bellamy finishes up the last of the pancakes and turns off the stove before dishing half of the stack on a separate plate for Clarke. She has to set Jeju down, to take it, which means they get to watch the puppy slide around on the tiled floor, pulling herself along happily with paws too big for her body. She wants to sniff every corner and put her mouth all over everything, and explore everywhere; she doesn’t seem to care she had no back legs, and they watch her with matching grins the whole time.

“Your mom wants you to see a dentist,” he says, and she makes a face, scrunching her nose up at him.

“Please stop texting my mom. Soon she’ll like you better than me.”

Bellamy grins. “That’s the goal.” Clarke tosses a bit of dry pancake at his face, and he manages to catch it in his mouth, chewing smugly.

“Hey, what are you getting Raven for her birthday?” Bellamy asks, making a face as he watches Clarke ruin all his hard work by flooding her plate with syrup, licking the sticky sides of her fingers when she’s done.

“I figured I’d just make her something,” she shrugs, and honestly he probably should have known. Clarke always goes for the homemade gift. For anyone else, that might seem like a cop out, but Clarke always manages to make her projects mean something. She and Lexa finally opened up their online store (imaginatively called Ecclexics) selling Lexa’s clothes, and whatever it is Clarke decides to make that week. Lately she’s been really into lampshades.

“Why,” she drops a chunk of syrupy pancake on the floor for Jeju, who lunges at it, nosing it around the floor messily. “What are you getting her?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Maybe another pillow with, I don’t know, Optimus Prime on it or something. Maybe BB-8.”

“Go with R2D2,” Clarke suggests. “He’s always been her favorite. She likes his scream.”

“It is relatable.”

They wash up the dishes—or, Bellamy washes the dishes, while Clarke just generally gets flower-scented dish soap all over everything, and loads the dishwasher too full, so the fan gets stuck and Bellamy has to reorganize it.

“Seriously, how do you still not know how to do this?” he asks, as Clarke scowls at the machine from the corner.

“It’s a conspiracy,” she decides. “It works perfectly fine when you’re not here. It’s out to make me look like an idiot.”

“It doesn’t have to try very hard,” he teases, and she flicks dishwater at his face.

Jeju whines from the floor, and Clarke snatches her up instantly. “That’s right, puppy,” she coos. “Uncle Bell’s mean and we don’t like him.”

“What, I’ve gone from dad to uncle? This family tree is confusing.”

“You’ve been demoted,” Clarke says haughtily, and carries Jeju out of the room.

By the time Lexa comes home, Bellamy’s working on the R2D2 pillow on the couch, with Clarke’s feet in his lap while she dangles an arm over the edge to play tug of war with Jeju over one of her socks. It’s offensively pink and covered in dust bunnies—he’s honestly not sure where the dog even found it.

“What nonsense is this,” Lexa demands, glaring at each of them in turn, even Jeju, who growls at her through a mouthful of cotton.

“Lexa, meet Jejunim,” Bellamy says dutifully. “Jeju, this is Lexa, your third parent.”

“Its what, now?”

“Bellamy accidentally bought a dog instead of a cat,” Clarke explains, and Lexa frowns at him.

“I know you have truly imbecilic tendencies, but this is a new low, even for you,” she clicks her tongue. “Why in the world were you buying a cat, anyway?”

“Bellamy thought we needed a mascot,” Clarke chirps, and he shoves her feet off his lap for being unhelpful.

“It’s not a home without a pet, Lexa,” Bellamy says seriously, but Lexa just glares harder.

“Keep it away from my room,” she says, finally, and disappears down the hallway.

“Well,” Clarke shrugs, batting the sock at Jeju’s nose, where the puppy has curled up by the coffee table. “I think that went well.”

“Until she sticks Jeju in the oven while we’re asleep,” he mutters, and Clarke digs the heel of her foot into his thigh.

“She wouldn’t. Don’t even joke about that, you’ll scar the dog.”

Bellamy glances over at where Jeju has begun gnawing on her ear absentmindedly.

“Yeah,” he says, dry. “She looks really traumatized. I don’t think she’ll ever recover.”

Clarke kicks him again for good measure.

The next few weeks are a whirlwind of learning. Bellamy’s had a few dogs over the year, but never very many, and never for very long before his mom made him find new homes for them, or took them to the pound. Mostly he and Octavia just stuck with garden snakes and the sand crabs they’d catch down by the docks. They caught a stray kitten in the Texaco parking lot by their house once, but it had some sort of infection and died within the week. Another time, O inherited a pet hamster from one of her school friends—their mom found out about that one fairly quickly, and set it loose in the woods behind their house while they were at school. They’re still not really sure what happened to it, but they can guess.

Neither Clarke nor Lexa have ever had to take care of a dog before, but that hardly matters since Jeju is unlike other dogs. For one, she doesn’t really do much. Clarke started complaining about how Bellamy managed to find the most _boring_ and inactive puppy in the universe, basically the second day. Mostly, Jeju just lays in her favorite spot on the rug. Not even in the dog bed Bellamy got her; he tried placing it over the rug in the spot she liked to lay in, but Jeju just chose a different spot on the carpet to sleep.

But the hardest part is taking Jeju on bathroom breaks. They have to carry her up and down the stairs, which is more than doable since she’s so small, but since Jeju has no back legs, when she pees it ends up all over her stomach and sometimes even her tail. It’s worse when she has to poop, and Bellamy’s honestly considering those overpriced doggy diapers he saw on sale at Etsy. They have to give Jeju a small bath in the kitchen sink each time she goes outside.

Lexa, predictably, is less than helpful. Mostly she jut glares at the puppy whenever she sees it, and complains loudly about her chewing on everything, leaving tiny indentations from her teeth.

Bellamy and Clarke take turns keeping the puppy in their room for the night, which means one of them always wakes up well-rested, while the other one wakes up at three, to take Jeju outside.

“Okay but hear me out,” he says once Clarke finally wakes up and stumbles into the kitchen, hair and glasses askew. He presses a mug of coffee, just how she like sit, into her hands and she hums happily. “We should invest in one of those giant pulleys, with the baskets on the end, and then we just lower Jeju to the ground to pee, and pull her back up again when she’s done.”

“We couldn’t even train Jeju to sit, Bell,” she points out, and he sighs, casting a glance over at where the puppy is slobbering all over a pile of Lexa’s fabric swatches on the floor.

“I know,” he admits, sitting down beside her on the couch. “I’m just tired.” Clarke tugs on his arm until he lays down, head on her thigh while she rakes her nails against his scalp like she knows he likes. He falls asleep within seconds.

But the sleepless nights and the pee-stained towels are all worth it, for Jeju. Clarke’s right, she doesn’t actually do much, doesn’t knock over furniture or chew through the walls like he’s heard of some dogs doing. But she’s warm and always happy to see them, always content to sit with him while he works on that week’s biography, sliding along the floor as fast as she can whenever he throws one of her toys.

He knows Clarke feels the same, has seen her whispering into Jeju’s ears about the episode of _Keeping up with the Kardashians_ on the TV, or cradling the dog to her chest while she makes ramen on the stove. Clarke’s room is typically a mess of half-finished projects and clothes she never remembers to wash, tossed all over everything including the bed, so sometimes she’ll just sleep on the couch, so she doesn’t have to look at the clutter. Bellamy will wake up to find her with Jeju curled up on her chest, blanket kicked off and tangled around her naked thighs. Or he’ll wake up to Jeju scratching her nails against his closed door, because Clarke is an insanely deep sleeper, and never actually wakes up to take the dog out.

Even Lexa starts to come around; when she thinks nobody’s looking, he sees her feed some of her expensive butter biscuits to the puppy. Bellamy grins into his cereal, but says nothing. He doesn’t want to scare her off.

Raven’s birthday is in September, the first party held at her apartment since Gina had moved in three months ago. Clarke is supposed to spend the afternoon helping them set it up, while Bellamy arrives later, and Lexa babysits the dog because she and Raven famously hate each other. They’ve had it all figured out for weeks, now.

But apparently Jeju doesn’t get the memo, because Bellamy wakes up to the sound of scratching at his door. He groans, shifting over to read the alarm clock, and then shuffles his way out of bed. He’s not usually one to sleep in, but Lexa had brought out some peppermint schnapps the night before, and they all got drunk watching _Project Runway_.

He finds Jeju alone in the living room, sliding across the floor and yipping a little. She’s a pretty quiet dog generally speaking, so she must be feeling desperate. His roommates are nowhere to be found.

Bellamy texts Clarke first.

_Hey where are you?_

She replies almost immediately, which means she must have had already been holding her phone, because otherwise Clarke goes _weeks_ without checking her messages. It’s a real problem.

 _ravens and wells and ginas_ , she texts. _why_

_Lexa’s missing._

_how missing is missing? did you check the studio?_

Bellamy’s eyes flick to the closed door in question. _No_ , he admits, and he can nearly _feel_ Clarke’s exasperation through the phone.

_typical. dont alert the coast guard yet shes probably fine._

He raps his knuckles against the wood three times before cracking the door open. Lexa and Clarke’s studio is really just a walk-in closet covered in cans of paint and wooden easels and those cloth mannequin things that Lexa uses to make her clothes. The lights are all off and the room is empty, save the headless mannequins, which to be honest sort of freak him out. They remind him of an episode of _The Twilight Zone_. He pulls the door shut.

_She’s not here._

_have you tried calling her?_

Bellamy pauses. Lexa hates texting and refuses to do it, on principle.

_No._

_youre ridiculous. call her and find out if shes been kidnapped. lmk._

He scrolls down until he finds Lexa’s contact photo—she’s wearing smeared eyeliner and glaring at the camera. She’d refused to let him use an ordinary snapshot, and had taken one herself, because she wanted to look intimidating. Lexa wants to look intimidating basically at all times.

She picks up on the fourth ring. “Blake.”

“Lexa,” he says, pleasant. “You know we live together, right? We’re on a first name basis.”

“Speak for yourself,” she sniffs. “I’m not on a first name basis with anybody.”

“Except Clarke.”

“Clarke is also a surname,” she points out. “Was this conversation really necessary? Did you only call to comment on my speaking habits?”

“There’s a lot to comment on, but no, actually. I was wondering where you were? I’m supposed to go to Raven’s in a little bit, and you’re supposed to watch Jeju, remember?”

“I left a note,” Lexa says, sounding disappointed in him, which is pretty much her default. Bellamy frowns, glancing around the apartment.

“Where?”

“On the mirror.” She huffs a little, annoyed. “I figured you might notice it while admiring your own reflection. Clearly I was mistaken; perhaps I should have left it in Clarke’s underwear drawer.”

Bellamy makes a face at the phone even though she can’t see it, and leans into the bathroom. The note is there, of course, written in her immaculate cursive on one of Clarke’s legal notepads. He snatches it from where it’s taped to the glass.

“ _Blake, I know you commissioned me for mutt-watching duty but unfortunately I must decline, as a client has just called about a runway show this evening that I cannot miss. If it were not so imperative to my work, I still would decline, because your bilateral amputee child is annoying. I am the wicked stepmother its story, and I intend to play my part dutifully. Best regards._ ” He pauses for a moment and lets the words actually set in. “ _Best regards_?”

“What, too casual?”

Bellamy lets out a ragged sigh, glancing over at where Jeju has found another of Clarke’s socks, and is struggling to wrestle with it. Since she only has the two front legs, it mostly involves a lot of head flailing, skin rolls jiggling from the motion.

“Why didn’t you just tell me before you left?” he wonders.

“Because you would have tried to persuade me to stay, with mozzarella sticks.”

“Well now you get no mozzarella sticks,” he decides. “I’m going to make some and you can’t have any.”

“That’s fine,” Lexa says, dismissive. “Have fun at your party. Let me know how much engine grease is all over everything. My own imagination only does so much. I rather think Reyes sleeps in an actual car.”

“Just the engine of one,” he sighs, still irritated. “I’m going to let Jeju pee all over your mannequins.”

“I will set fire to everything that you love,” Lexa says, and it sounds like a promise. “Best regards.” She hangs up.

Which is how Bellamy ends up bringing Jeju to the party. Jasper’s the one who opens the door, and he hones in on the squirming puppy immediately.

“Oh my god,” he says, loud enough that Bellamy knows he’s not sober. “Oh my god, is that the one from the video? The one with no legs?”

“She has two legs,” Bellamy says, petulant, but Jasper doesn’t seem to notice, reaching out to play with the saggy skin of her neck.

“Oh my god,” he repeats. “She’s made of wrinkles!”

Bellamy shakes him off so he can step inside the apartment. It’s bigger than the one he lives in, and built differently, with a wide open plan and just the one bedroom. The far wall is made up entirely of windows, and someone’s turned it into a little race track, drawing on the glass and then taping up tiny matchbox cars along the markered pavement. It’s cute, and he knows immediately that Clarke drew it.

“Bellamy,” O calls, and he turns to find her glaring at him, both hands on her hips. Her eyes are a little glassy, but she’s not about to let that stop her from giving him a piece of her mind, apparently. “Did you seriously bring the _puppy_?”

Bellamy waves the wrapped up pillow in her face. “And a present.” When she doesn’t stop glaring, he adds “Lexa dropped out of dog-watching, and I couldn’t find another sitter on short notice.”

“Ugh, I hate her,” Octavia grumbles, forgetting to be annoyed with him in the face of her fresh annoyance with Lexa. He bites back a smile.

“I’m aware. Where’s the birthday girl?”

She leads her around the corner, to the dining room-living room-kitchen space, where everyone’s crowded together around the enormous leather couches Wells bought. Raven’s there too, perched in Gina’s lap with her bad leg propped up on Wells’ thighs. She’s thoroughly drunk, and waving a glass of some rich-colored liquor around dangerously.

“Bellamy Blake!” she crows, and snuggles a little further into her girlfriend, territorial. Bellamy bites back a grin—he’d gone on _one_ blind date with her, two if he counted the second one, which he doesn’t because that was also when he introduced her to Raven and it became clear he wasn’t going on a third.

Bellamy nods over at Wells, who seems the most sober, and sets the pillow down on the pile of other gifts that have congregated on the table.

“You know they compare notes on you,” Wells says mildly, and Bellamy tries not to fidget. Jeju’s still squirming in his arms, wanting to investigate all these new sounds and smells and potential friendships.

“Don’t worry babe,” Raven leans over to smack a slobbery kiss on Wells’ mouth, while Gina holds onto her hips so she doesn’t fall over. “You’re still our favorite dick.” She makes a face. “Dick as in penis, not as in asshole. You’re not an asshole.”

Wells smiles, all fondness. “Oh good, I was worried.” He pats Raven’s bad knee until she settles down again, and then folds his hand into Gina’s.

“Bell!” Clarke flops all of her weight onto Bellamy’s side, and if he were less sober, it might have knocked him over. He looks down to find her beaming up at him, all drunk affection, and swings an arm around her to tug her in.

He can still feel Octavia watching him knowingly from across the room, but. He’s just being a good friend; Clarke’s drunk, and she’s having trouble standing up on her own. Plus, it’s not like _he_ sought _her_ out, so.

“Hey, what happened to you? You’re the best at drinking.” It’s a lie, Lexa’s the best, but Clarke’s usually still relatively sober at these sorts of things.

She frowns, and he tries and fails not to find it adorable. “Raven made a drinking game,” she explains, shooting a sour glance at their friend. It makes sense; Raven makes drinking games for everything. He’s pretty sure she made a drinking game for drinking games, once.

She also made one for him and Clarke, but specifically for him _around_ Clarke—taking shots each time he failed to ask her out, each time she bent over and he choked on an ice cube, each time she smiled and he melted into the floor. It was back when they were still friendly, but not really _friends_ , and everyone had a bet about when they’d finally get together.

It tapered off once they realized it wasn’t going to happen, and Raven shut down the game for good, because when it comes down to it, she’s actually a nice person. He’s pretty sure they all think he still just has some schoolboy crush on his roommate, which is fine. It’s better than the truth—that he’s pining away on some pathetic unrequited romance.

“You brought Jeju!” Clarke squeals happily, noticing Jeju for the first time. Jeju starts to squirm uncontrollably, trying to get at her mom, and Bellamy folds her into Clarke’s arms. She grins, pressing sloppy kisses to Jeju’s ears and face.

Bellamy’s relieved, really; he’d anticipated Clarke being annoyed with him for bringing the dog, but apparently she’s too far gone. She becomes exceptionally affectionate when drunk, complimenting strangers, telling everyone how much she loves them, before eventually falling down wherever Bellamy is, and falling asleep in his lap.

“Everyone come meet my dog!” she shouts, holding Jeju up in the air like in _The Lion King_. He can hear her humming the Circle of Life tune under her breath.

Miller’s the nearest one to her, and so Clarke jumps at him. “Miller! Say hi to Jeju.” She shoves her puppy in his face, adamant, until he finally just takes her, curling her into his chest while she licks at his chin.

“She’s nice,” he offers, scratching her on the neck. “Cute.” Jeju bites at his chin and he frowns at her. Miller’s from New Orleans and he’s clearly tipsy, because the accent is starting to show through.

He passes the dog off to Monty, who’s enamored, and then she’s passed to Jasper, who’s basically a puppy, himself, before finally Raven cries out and _demands_ to know why everyone is getting a moment with the puppy besides the birthday girl.

“Hi, puppy,” Raven says, holding her up to her nose. She knows the dog’s name, but refuses to use it on the grounds that _it’s a stupid fucking name_ , in her own words. She pets at the spot where her hind legs should be. “You’re like me,” she says, soft, and then buries her face in the rolls of skin on Jeju’s belly.

She shows Wells and Gina. “See? She’s like me.” Raven looks back at the dog seriously. “I’m going to make you a brace too, so we can match.”

“You don’t have to,” Bellamy starts, and Raven glares at him, cutting him off.

“She deserves a brace, Bellamy. She deserves to be like the other dogs. Except she’ll be even _better_.”

Bellamy nods, placating. She probably won’t even remember in the morning.

He finds his sister in the kitchen corner of the space, digging through the beer stashed in the vegetable crisper. Eventually she settles on some sort of fancy craft brew involving blackberries. She tosses him a Guinness.

“So when are you going to ask out the roommate, who you’re _totally_ not in love with?” she demands, clinking their bottles together, in habit.

Bellamy shrugs, taking a pull from his beer. “I don’t know. When are _you_ going to ask out the roommate, who _you’re_ totally not in love with?”

O scowls down at her drink, which he’s pretty sure means she’s mad at herself and not him, so he throws an arm around her neck, like he did when they were kids. “I keep waiting for him to make the move,” she admits, picking at the threads in a hole in her jeans, which are already more holes than material. “Which is fucking _stupid_ , right? I mean, you know me, I _always_ make the first move. But I just—I just keep waiting around.”

“You want to be sure he wants you to, and isn’t just saying yes out of politeness, or to save the friendship,” he says, understandingly. And if he glances over to where Clarke’s playing drunk Checkers with Monty, well. He can’t really help it.

Octavia nods. “We’re both ridiculous,” she decides. “It must be genetic.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, clacking their bottles together again. “Definitely.”

Clarke finds him again when the party’s starting to die down, like she always does. She squeezes herself in between him and Harper, flopping a little across both of them.

She grins over at where Raven is still cradling Jeju, threatening everyone who tries to take her away, even though no one’s going to.

Clarke taps Harper on the arm, and points. “That’s my dog,” she says proudly, and Harper grins.

“Are you sure?”

Clarke nods and then switches sides, so she can snuggle into Bellamy. “You’re the best,” she mumbles, sleepy, and Bellamy presses a grin to her hair.

It would be nice, if she loved him the way he wants her to, but this is good too. He’s fine with it, as long as he’s still her favorite, still the one she ends up with at the end of the day.

The next morning, he wakes up to Raven kicking him in the ribs. He’d apparently fallen asleep on the sofa, with his head pillowed on top of Clarke’s chest, hard on brushing her thigh as he rolls over to find Raven glaring down at him.

She jabs a finger over at the pee that’s puddled on the hardwood, and Bellamy sighs into Clarke’s skin. She huffs in her sleep a little, petting his head like a dog.

“Paper towels?” he asks, and goes to fetch them from the kitchen, trying to forget the feeling of Clarke’s heartbeat just under his ear.

After Raven’s birthday, three things happen in very quick succession.

First, Lexa moves out.

Clarke comes home to find him modeling, standing like a scare crow in the living room as Lexa pins different materials together around his arms, torso and legs, draping unwanted scarves on top of his head as a placeholder.

He doesn’t really model for her that often, and Clarke smirks, going for the camera on her phone immediately, probably to send a bunch of embarrassing pictures to his sister and her mom.

Lexa’s in the middle of pinning another section, when she mentions it. “Oh, by the way, Costia and I are moving in together.”

Bellamy moves in surprise, and then flinches when a pin jabs into the skin of his forearm. Lexa glares up at him, irritated. “Is she moving in here?” he asks, and she gives him her favorite _how can you be this idiotic_ look.

“That’s great!” Clarke says, dropping Jeju down so she can slide her way across the floor, to Bellamy. She and Lexa have taken to simply ignoring each other’s existences, which seems to work best for everyone. “When are you moving?”

“Tomorrow,” Lexa says, simply, like she _hasn’t_ just shifted Bellamy’s world on its axis. It’s just always been him, Clarke and Lexa. Bellamy’s never really let himself consider what it would be like, if things were just him and Clarke. It seemed too impossible, and too dangerous.

“We’d like to sign the lease as soon as possible. It’s a place downtown, closer to her work.”  Lexa shoots narrowed eyes up at Bellamy. “Just because I won’t be here to make sure you work on those pillows, does not mean I won’t expect you to. You owe the world those pillows, Blake.”

“Noted,” he says and then, because even if she’s prickly, Lexa’s still his _friend_ , he adds “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I know things have been—rocky with you guys, but don’t you think this is a little extreme?”

Lexa shrugs, pinning a sleeve. “Things were rocky because she didn’t think I was serious about her. I’m showing her that I am.”

And then she _smiles_ , which basically seals it. Clarke leaves to buy alcohol for the impromptu going-away party she’s apparently decided to hold. Once the door is shut, Lexa steps back to give him a once-over.

“This is your moment, you know. I’m giving you an enormously good opening, and if you don’t use it to your advantage, I will be very disappointed in you.”

Bellamy licks his lips, which have suddenly gone very dry. “Got it.”

They help pack up Lexa’s things that night, doing a decidedly average job since they’re all pretty wasted. Costia shows up with a uhaul in the morning, and Bellamy’s left doing most of the heavy lifting, which is fine. At least he gets to say goodbye to those creepy fucking mannequins.

Clarke hugs Lexa tightly when they’re finished, and then Costia too, for good measure, before disappearing back upstairs. Clarke hates goodbyes.

Bellamy picks Lexa up because he knows she hates it, and she flicks him in the neck. “I’ll miss you,” he says, and she grimaces.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’ll still live in the same city. I’m not going to _die_.”

“Famous last words,” he warns, and she flicks him again.

The second thing that happens, is Raven builds Jejunum a brace.

Specifically, she builds her a kind of tiny wheelchair, out of scrap metal and wheels, strapping it to her harness so Jeju can run around the apartment like she has four legs.

Clarke cries the first time she sees it, and then spends the next hour and a half filming it on her phone so she can send the video to everyone. Raven looks on proudly, and Bellamy stares.

“I didn’t know you were serious,” he admits, and she rolls a shoulder.

“I’m always serious,” she declares, and then ruins it immediately by pulling out a tiny metal helmet, like some crude version of the ones Trojan soldiers wore. There’s a tiny red pompom on the top, which he’s pretty sure she tore off a winter hat.

“What’s that?”

Raven limps over to the dog, who’s now running in circles trying to catch the contraption attached to her back, and steadies her, tying the helmet onto her head. “I thought the brace kind of looked like a chariot,” Raven shrugs. “Figured you guys might like a nerd dog. Thought she’d fit in. You know, since you’re both nerds.”

Clarke hugs her so hard they almost fall over. She takes a million videos and posts them to Instagram, tagging Octavia and Harper, who just got a German Shepard puppy and is convinced he’s better than Jeju. She and Clarke have been passive aggressively texting each other pictures of their puppies, trying to one up one another. It’s arguably the cutest warfare Bellamy has ever seen.

“She’s going _down_ ,” Clarke declares viciously, captioning her latest clip SUCK IT COP DOG!!!!

When the third thing happens, Bellamy is working on another biography. He’s got his laptop open and on three percent battery because he’s too lazy to get up and plug it in, and he’s surrounded by printed out Wikipedia pages, so he can highlight all of the important bits. As it turns out, biography-writing is about two parts actual writing, and eight parts reading Wikipedia (although sometimes he goes for the more obscure history journals if the person is well-known. This one is for David Evans Strickler, who invented the banana split, so. Wikipedia it is.) He’s typing it up on the floor because if he knows that if he sits on the couch, he’ll fall asleep on it.

Clarke wanders in at some point—she’d gone over to Lexa’s for the day to work on something that has to do with their store. Bellamy’s a good friend, alright, but a lot of what they say goes over his head when it comes to the internet, and he’s just given up pretending to understand.

“Your mom said to let you know she’s swinging through town on Monday,” he says in place of hello, not looking up from the line of text he’s marking in neon pink. “She wants to do brunch with us.”

“Did you seriously just say _do brunch_?” Clarke asks, disgusted, toeing her boots off inside the door.

Bellamy makes a face at her. “Did you seriously ignore a text from your mom again?”

“I didn’t ignore it, I just didn’t notice!” Clarke huffs, flopping down on the sofa behind him. He watches as she peels her tiny socks off, flinging them into places unknown, before reaching over immediately to card her hand through his hair. She likes to play with his hair, and he likes having it played with, so he’s not about to complain. It’s a friendly thing. Friends totally play with each other’s hair; he’s seen it in movies.

“You never notice your texts,” he says, fond, and she huffs again, warm breath hitting the back of his neck.

“I notice your texts,” she argues, which is true.

Bellamy’s phone goes off, almost as if it was waiting for this exact moment, to make an entrance. Clarke frowns over at it. “That better not be my mom again. I really am starting to think she likes you better.”

“Only because I respond to her texts,” he teases, and she pulls on his hair as he checks the message, trying to tilt the phone away from Clarke’s sight. He has an ongoing Words With Friends game with Abby, and he doesn’t want her to know.

It’s not from Abby.

It’s from O—simple, just a picture and one line of text. The picture is of her and Lincoln, kissing, in a decidedly _not_ “just friends” way. The text says _ur turn, big brother xx_

“Who is it?” Clarke asks, struggling to sit upright so she can be nosy, and Bellamy hurriedly deletes the text, so she’ll only see the picture.

He needn’t have bothered, as it turns out; her phone buzzes soon after, and since she’s already curious, she fishes it out to look.

She squeals almost immediately, texting his sister back so quickly he’s worried the joints in her thumbs might pop. She leans forward to get a selfie, of her grinning, while Bellamy frowns meanly at the camera, so Octavia will know he’s still scarred for life from that kiss.

Jeju gets excited by proxy and starts running around the room in circles, which she likes to do at every opportunity, now that she can. She goes so fast that the wheels catch on her front paws, tripping her, but she usually just rights herself and keeps going.

“Dogs are dumb,” Clarke says, after Jeju falls over herself for the third time in a row. Clarke reaches out a hand to wiggle her fingers in her face, letting Jeju slobber all over the tips. “But I’m glad they exist.” She glances down at Bellamy with a grin. “Sort of like you.”

He gives his most unimpressed look. “You think I’m dumb?”

Clarke laughs, reaching back for his hair, even though her hand’s now all covered in dog slobber. “No, I’m glad you exist. You’re my fave.”

Bellamy hums, mind still caught on O’s text, in spite of himself. “Mine too.”

Clarke flicks the back of his neck, but her voice still sounds fond. “Dick.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, nudging her hand with his head, to get it moving again. It feels nice, alright? Clarke does this thing with her nails on his scalp, and it feels _amazing_. “But you knew that already.”

Clarke leaves to take Jeju for a walk. While she used to only like spending a minute or two outside at a time, now that she has her brace, the puppy likes to go on long, half-hour walks through the neighborhood, showing it off. And Clarke leaps at every opportunity to take her, because she is a total dog mom at heart. Bellamy’s caught her showing off pictures of Jeju on her phone to strangers.

 _make food while we’re gone_ , she texts suddenly.

_What kind?_

_breakfast kind! i feel too healthy. i need bacon, bell._

_Understood. And waffles?_

_what kind of question is that yes OF COURSE waffles jfc it’s like i don’t even know you._

Bellamy grins and stretches as he stands. The biography isn’t due for another month; it can wait a few hours.

She smacks a kiss to his cheek in thanks when she gets home, flushed and wind-blown from outside, and Bellamy thinks _I have to tell her._

 _Soon_.

Bellamy sometimes works at Murphy’s bar for a couple of hours in the swing shift, when no one else is available. It’s easy work, and tips that he doesn’t have to pay taxes on, and as many free drinks as he wants.

Clarke shows up around one in the morning, which isn’t that unusual. She usually follows him to the bar, because she knows he’ll give her free drinks, and she’ll get wasted and draw on all the spare cocktail napkins, or kick the claw machine’s ass in the corner. She won _seven_ neon stuffed rabbits in one night, after pounding back Jaegerbombs and threatening to fight some frat guys who kept hitting on her.

But this time instead of sliding onto one of the less sticky bar stools and ordering something with a bunch of gin, she walks up to where he’s wiping down some glasses at the front of the counter. She’d gone to dinner at Raven’s, Wells’ and Gina’s that night, and was still wearing the paint-stained jeans she’d left the apartment in.

“Hey, when do you get off tonight?” She looks a little weird, wringing her hands, hair messy and not pulled back like it usually is when she goes out. She looks like she just came from the apartment, on her way to buy a pint of Phish Food from the Kangaroo, or something. She might be there to walk him home; she usually does, because she thinks it’s too dangerous for him to walk alone at night.

“Two,” he says, grinning a little fondly when she looks disappointed. “Want a drink? We have like five extra cases of Sprite, so I can mix in some rum or something, and you can see how it tastes.”

“Tempting,” she says, dry, and then shakes her head. “I’ll just wait over,” she gestures towards one of the booths near the back of the barroom, which makes him frown. She never sits so far from the bar; she likes to tease him in between customers, about how many girls leave their phone numbers on their receipts.

Bellamy watches her go over, looking strangely alone in the huge booth by herself, fiddling with her phone until she gets bored with it, and pulls an old battered sketchbook from her bag. It looks like the one she’s dedicated to flower sketches, which aren’t as cute and dainty as they sound. Mostly it’s a bunch of skulls and skeletons, wearing daisy chains.

Finally, Murphy shows up to lock up the bar, and Bellamy collects Clarke from where she’s doodling sleepy, half-hearted ivy strands around the border of a page. “Hey,” he reaches over to brush the hair from her eyes, grinning when she squints up at him. “Ready to go?”

Clarke hums a little grumpily, and scooches across the vinyl, so he can tug her upright. He lets her lean into him, taking her weight effortlessly, habit by now.

The air is cool enough to shock her awake again, and then she’s pulling out from under his arm. Bellamy tries not to let it bother him—maybe she’s just getting sweaty, or his arm was heavy, or she just wants to walk on her own—but then she’s stepping in front of him, stopping him with both hands on his chest, directly above where his heart is beating double-time. He wonders if she can feel it through her palms.

“Bell,” she hesitates, frowning, like she’s trying to put all her thoughts in order. Bellamy knows this look; it’s the patented _Clarke Griffin has something to say_ look, so he waits. “I—fuck,” she hisses, ducking her head down, and then starts over.

“I want you,” she says, like a death threat, glaring up at him so fiercely he’s not sure if he should kiss her or fear for his life. As it is, mostly he’s surprised he’s still standing. “Not as a roommate, or as a—a _friend_ , but. I want to date you, and fall asleep with you in a bed, and I want to have shower sex with you—and other sex. All the sex. I want to kiss you, and raise our stupid dog together, and—”

“Yes,” Bellamy says, and it’s a testament to his strength of willpower that he can say anything at all. “ _Yes_ ,” he says again, just to really send the message through. But she’s smiling now, so he’s pretty sure she gets it. “ _Fuck_ —of fucking course, Clarke I’m—just, yes. To everything, all of that. But especially the first one, the— _please_ date me.”

She laughs, giddy and bursting, as she rocks forward on her toes to throw her arms around him, tugging him down. The kiss is more teeth than anything, both of them smiling too much to really make it work, but he puts his hands on her lower back and pulls her in, feeling her the way he’s wanted to for _years_.

It’s everything he’s wanted, but _better_ , because she’s here, in his arms, warm and possible, and kissing him back.

Bellamy pulls back and noses her cheek softly. She presses her lips to his jaw.

“What brought this on?” he asks, before he can help it, but Clarke just shrugs, moving her mouth down to trail kisses down his neck.

“I’ve wanted you for a while,” she admits, voice soft in the quiet of the early morning. All the bars are closed and the people are at home, in bed. All except the two of them, in their own tiny universe on the sidewalk. “Since forever, practically. But, specifically tonight? Gina.”

Bellamy blinks, surprised. “Gina?”

Clarke nods against his chest, and then presses a kiss there, over his shirt. “She said when you guys went on that date, I was really all you talked about. Well, me and Octavia, but I was all your best stories.”

“You are,” he agrees, easy, because it’s true. To be honest, he didn’t have many good stories at all before he met Clarke. “You’re the best part of my life.”

“You are too,” she says, gripping him even closer, and it’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to him, being loved by Clarke Griffin. He doesn’t really see how anything else might compare.

Except maybe one.

“So,” he murmurs, dipping just the edge of his fingers into her jeans, kneading her ass just barely. “About that shower sex…”

Clarke laughs into his neck, bright and _happy_ , and he nearly melts into the pavement. She pulls back and gives a wicked grin. “Definitely happening,” she assures him. “Among other things.”

There’s a beat where he just looks at her, at the challenge in her eyes, and then they take off down the sidewalk, strides so fast they’re nearly jogging to get to their apartment.

They don’t stop to kiss against every surface—although it’s _hard_ , okay, and shows some serious restraint on Bellamy’s part—but Clarke does take hold of his hand, threading their fingers together and tugging him along the whole way.

When they reach their hallway, Bellamy has her up against the door, mouth on the skin of her collar bone, three fingers smoothing their way down her pants, when Jeju lets her presence be known, along with the fact that she can _see_ them, and does not appreciate being made into a third wheel. Pun not intended.

Bellamy sighs, tipping his head against the wooden door with a soft _thud_ , while Clarke laughs, tugging at his hair a little to move him off of her. “Come on,” she kisses the spot of skin where his cheek becomes his jaw, and smiles. “The sooner we take her out, the sooner I can rock your world.”

He can feel his face splitting, the grin is so wide. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Clarke nods, all seriousness, as she fetches Jeju’s harness. “Prepare to have your world _rocked_ , buddy.”

“Okay,” he follows her down the stairs, and grins when she glares at him. “What?”

“I’m serious, Bell,” she huffs, and somehow his grin manages to widen.

“So am I, honest. I can’t wait for you to rock my world.”

“It’s going to be legendary,” Clarke agrees, as they step outside and wait around for Jeju to sniff every flower imaginable, before finally peeing.

“I can’t wait,” Bellamy says, lacing his fingers through hers, to give it a squeeze. She folds both of their hands into the pocket of her rain coat, because their fingers are starting to turn pink from the cold.

“And then I’m taking you on a date,” Clarke adds, and Bellamy pulls on her arm to make her stop, and turn, so he can kiss her.

“I can’t wait,” he repeats, quiet, just for her, and Clarke beams at him.

Then she starts to whine. “Je _ju_ , hurry up! Mommy and daddy need some us-time.”

Bellamy snorts, pressing a kiss to her hair. It’s something that he’s done a million times before, but now it’s different. Better. “There’s no rush, Clarke,” he smiles when she looks up at him, skeptical. “I’m not going anywhere, seriously. I plan on keeping you for a very long time.”

“Define ‘a very long time,’” she says as Jeju inspects a street lamp.

“Uh, I guess _the rest of my life_ ,” he shrugs, refusing to feel embarrassed. He’s been pathetically pining after Clarke Griffin for years, and now she loves him back. There’s nothing to be embarrassed of.

Clarke seems to agree, because she goes immediately soft, kissing the dimple in his chin sweetly. “We should probably get started on that, then,” she decides, always practical, and Bellamy laughs when she turns to lead them back into the building.

“My sister owes me a drink now,” he says mildly, as Clarke unlocks the door.

She raises a brow in question, so he adds “She said she’d buy me one if I ever got the guts to ask you out.”

“Technically, I asked you out,” Clarke points out, and Bellamy grins, crowding in behind her as they step into the room. Jeju immediately scuttles over to crawl into her dog bed, which is good because the idea of a puppy running underneath their feet on a wheeled metal contraption just sounds like a hazard.

“I’ll give you half my winnings,” Bellamy promises, leading the way to his room, because Clarke’s bed is still covered in some sort of paper mache octopus trying to break open a lighthouse. Bellamy’s pretty sure it’ll eventually become some sort of lamp.

“Seems only fair,” Clarke mumbles as he presses her back down onto his bed, kissing and kissing her until they have to pull back to breathe, and their hands keep bumping in their rush to get each other undressed.

Bellamy has been waiting far too long to see Clarke naked. She seems to be having the same idea.

“I’ve dreamed about this moment,” he admits, bending down to mouth at her breast through her bra. It’s lace and see-through, and she moans at the touch of his tongue.

“What—ah—what moment,” Clarke asks, and he admires her ability to keep speaking, even as he speeds up his movements.

“You, under me, my mouth all over you,” Bellamy moves lower and lower until he’s settled right between her thighs, snug and heady. He licks his way in between them, until Clarke mewls and writhes up on the mattress.

“Nng,” she groans. “Good dream.” She comes apart with her underwear still on, and then when Bellamy’s taken those away too, she comes again. He wants to make a game of it, to see how often she can go in one night, but then she’s tugging him up by the shoulders, letting him fall in against her hips, rising up to meet him with each breath.

“I dream about your hands,” she says, sounding strangely shy given the fact that his mouth is still wet from her cunt. “And your dick.” At that, she curls a fist around him, tugging until he has to hiss, falling down against the crook of her neck.

“Fuck,” he swears, and again when she starts in on a rhythm with sure, firm strokes that have him thrusting in against her. “ _Fuck_ , Clarke, I—I—”

“I know,” she says, soft, and he groans. “Me too.”

Scratch that— _this_ is the best thing that has ever happened to him. He whispers her name against her skin, her shoulder, her jaw, her chest, and then rolls over, taking her with him. She leans her head on his arm, the sweat of her cheek sticking to the sweat on his skin, but neither of them are about to move, or clean up.

“Shower sex in the morning?” he offers, mostly because he can’t even imagine trying to take a shower, in his current state. He’d fall asleep with his dick in her mouth.

“Shower sex in the morning,” Clarke agrees around a yawn, snuggling in half on top of him.

Bellamy wakes up with blonde hair in his eyes and nose and mouth. He rolls over, to find Clarke scrunching her face up at the sudden wake up call, and leans down to kiss her, wet and slow and lazy.

Clarke hums into his mouth, lips twitching up into a smile. “I’m pretty sure you promised me shower sex,” she hedges, voice rough, like gravel down his spine, making him shiver.

“I’m pretty sure I did,” he agrees. He’s about to suggest they head towards the bathroom, when there’s the tell-tale scratch of little paws on the door.

Bellamy sighs, head dipping down between Clarke’s breasts as she laughs.

“Duty calls, dad,” she teases, and he swipes another kiss to her mouth before he goes.

“You’d better be naked under the water when I get back.” He pulls on a pair of sweatpants he doesn’t remember leaving in the corner, and an enormous U of M sweatshirt, foregoing the shirt.

Jeju is waiting by the door, her wagging tail sending the whole brace sliding. Bellamy hooks on her harness and the leash, stuffing his feet in the giant crocs he keeps by the door for this exact situation.

As he opens the door, he hears the shower kick on, and he smiles.

The rest of his life is looking up.


End file.
